


Steve and Danno's Excellent Adventure

by annieke



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Community: h50-reversebang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 00:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2088021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieke/pseuds/annieke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the H50 reversebang<br/>Story for Galadriel34's cover art <a href="http://i80.photobucket.com/albums/j169/galadriel34/My%20wallpapers/Hawaii%20Five-0/H50%20Reversebang%202014/McDanno.jpg~original">Galadriel34's art</a><br/> </p>
<p>Steve and Danny in the woods is never a good idea. Seriously.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve and Danno's Excellent Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> This didn't quite turn out to be what I was intending to write when I first picked Galadriel's art; I hope you find it fun!
> 
> Go see the full version of her wonderful art and leave her a kudo! [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2088987)

It feels good, the water. Cool and soothing and Danny turns his face into it, eyes closing as he softly sighs into the shower's spray trickling thin rivulets down his face.

The sun is warm; his face feels so hot and he inhales a deep breath, slowly blowing it out on the count of four in an attempt to alleviate an already rising headache.

Surfing. He's come to love it. Who woulda thought?

Kono, for one, he muses. It's her doing that has him out here for the day. Just beginner waves, she'd said. Easy. Yeah, easy waves that rapidly gave way to larger, not so easy waves as the day progressed, but he'd been handling them well, all things considered.

Until that last one. He'd gotten up and balanced just fine, feeling sure and stable and happy as he'd turned the board, even marveling for a split second at the beauty of the ocean's clear blue water as he began to surf—and surf well and why wasn't Steve there to witness this—and then...

Nothing.

Kono told him she'd seen him tilt, overcompensate and then eat it spectacularly as he pitched sideways into an all-encompassing arms and legs akimbo wipeout. Apparently, the board flew into the air to come crashing hard down on him as they were both annihilated by that wave and the next that rolled in after.

He doesn't know any of this. Has no memory of it whatsoever. Not a one, although he has gingerly discovered an incredibly painful lump that's rapidly emerging on the side of his head if he's looking for any actual proof. Which he isn't. It's all he can do to not bow down under the splitting headache working its way to cleaving his brain in two, though, never mind bother trying to piece together the actual details of it all happening. He knows he hit the water and the board hit him—'nuff said. 

Knows now, too, that somehow he'd dragged himself and board to the showers to rinse off and ease the rising ache already tightening up his neck and shoulders, not that he remembers doing any of that, either. But here he is standing under the shower with eyes still closed, board in hand and leash still wrapped around his ankle.

Hell. Christ, he feels like all hell; a little sick. Nauseous. Pain is setting into this neck and shoulders; he definitely got his clock cleaned out there. His ears are even ringing.

"Ssst."

Yeah. Ringing. That board must have really whacked him one because now the hissing is getting louder and wait—that's not ringing. He sucks in a deep inhale and oh, hey hold on—not going to do that again. Ow. Jesus, cracked or bruised rib for sure and he lightly fingers what turns out to be an insanely tender area on his ribcage. Great. No more surfing today, that's for sure.

There's hissing again. Almost frantic, if that makes any sense, which, Danny decides, it does not. He cracks open an eye, wincing at the stabbing pain the sun drills through to the back of his head and also, god, a sudden bite of vomit in the back of this throat. No, no puking. He is not going to be sick, he's not, breathes deep and peers toward some of the bushes that surround the shower. The bushes are hissing.

"Kono?" Of course it's not her. He knows it's not her; she's still out there surfing as far as he knows and besides, Kono would never hiss at him. She's too direct for that and he starts to laugh, remembering when he first met her and she'd decked that guy who'd dropped in on her wave—and then the bush hisses again.

What the—some strange Hawaiian lizard, maybe, which makes him tense because you never know what's crawling around out here on this island, but then…

Then he sees him. Steve. It's Steve. McGarrett. Crouched down behind a bush and wearing, oh, Lord, what the hell is that he's wearing? Is that camo? What in the…?

What is Steve doing here?

He frowns at Steve, and even he can hear the incredulous disgust lacing his words as he calls out because…Jesus, Steve. Really? Camo? Says flatly. "Just what in the hell are you doing?"

Steve waves at him. Or no, Steve's frantically waving a hand…at what, Danny can't even begin to fathom. Gekkos? Mosquitoes, maybe? Hard to tell and he tries to blink away the water still running down his face to get a better view. What's wrong with his eye? One of them has completely swelled shut. Great. That's just effing great and seriously, just how hard did that board wallop him, anyway?

Then: "Danny!" Which Steve still manages to make sound like a hiss even as he's practically barking it out.

He stares one-eyed at Steve because this is just the strangest scenario. "Steve. I can't even begin to piece together what it is you think you're—"

"Danny—ssst." More hand waving—or no, it's some sort of a cutting motion.

"Ssst?"

"Shush."

"Shush? Are you kidding me?" Danny can tell his eyebrows have climbed to his—okay, he'll admit it—receding hairline because, seriously, is he the only one to be thinking there is something wrong with this picture? "You did not just shush at me from—why are you hiding behind a bush?"

Steve's still swatting away mosquitoes, or having some kind of fit, it's hard to tell and frankly, he's finding the whole setting somewhat surreal. There's water in his eye that he swipes at it while continuing to ponder the actions of the crazy person still gesticulating—frantically, he might add—in his direction.

"Danny," Steve softly yells—and yes, that's what it now sounds like: soft yelling—and then jabs a finger at him. "Get down."

"What?"

"Get. Down."

"No, no—see," Danny replies, doing his own hand waving with the one not currently gripping his surfboard. "I heard what you said, Steven. I just don't get why you said it—and I sure as shit don't appreciate the finger thrusting thingy." Weirdly, his words sound a bit thick, like his tongue is suddenly too big for his mouth. Must have bitten down on it when he took the tumble, damn it. This day has just gone straight to shit.

"Danny—"

"Steve? What's going on with you? No wait, better yet. Why are you here and, more importantly, why are you dressed like Rambo?" Honestly, this is getting weirder by the second. Then again, it is Steve.

He hears Steve repeat, "Rambo?" and then Steve's eyes seem to be searching all around, then the next thing Danny knows he's flat on his back on the wet ground with Steve half on top of him, eyes now searching _him_ from head to toe.

"What are you doing, you lunatic? Get off me!"

"Stay still, Danny. Please?"

There's concern there, he can see it in Steve's face and so gives him a nod because sometimes it's better to play along with the crazy rather than try to figure it out. Besides, he's feeling kinda tired and lying flat out is actually relatively relaxing. Relatively, because this is Steve and one can never relax too much around Steve. You never know when bullets may start to fly.

He's rambling. Or his brain is, so yeah, that wave and board took him out maybe a little more harshly than he initially realized, but he'll live, and he's about to say just that when Steve cuts him off with a finger to his lips.

"Danny, don't. Quiet."

Steve's pretty much still studying him kind of up close and personal, which, on any other day and in any other situation, he'd love, but right now is pissing him off. Just a little bit. "Steven, you—"

Steve's hand clamps down hard over his mouth and Steve is then frantically hissing again, into his ear this time, shushing him again. "Please," Steve says. Like that makes this all better. Jesus, it's all he can do not to bite down. Hard.

Okay. Okay. Think—what is going on here? Steve's hissing at him from behind bushes. Dressed like he's on some secret Navy mission in the middle of the rainforest. Acting a little nutty. A lot nutty, actually, and so Danny stills under him to wait out the madness. Not such a bad place to be, all things considered.

If he wasn't feeling so sick to his stomach, if his neck and shoulders weren't aching horribly and if his head wasn't killing him and making things seem like he was wading through a mud bog—yes, he seems a little slow on the uptake right now—he'd probably have this all figured out.

Then again maybe not. This is Steve, after all. Sometimes there is no figuring Steve out.

Steve. Steve is on top of him—pressing on him. A heavy weight bearing him down into the ground under his back. What he wouldn't give to have this moment under entirely different circumstances, and it's that thought that brings him back to the here and now because no matter how much he's longed for Steve to be sprawled out on top of him, he knows it'll never happen. Has known all these years, and has managed to keep a lid on just how attracted he is to Steve without giving even one measure of it away—no matter how unsubtle Kono says he is. What the hell does she know?

Still, attraction from afar when they work and play together so closely; it's been hard to keep all his feelings and longings suppressed for so long. He ought to get a medal for this, for shit's sake. "A goddamn medal!"

"Danny, what?" Steve's hand eases up a bit.

"What? I didn't say anything." And down again comes the hand.

"Shh, stay quiet." 

For sure Steve isn't making any of this easier. Nope. Especially not with the kind of hip grind he's doing because he's on top. God, it's making Danny feel a little drunk, truth be told.

Steve's leaning over him, their faces close and while he doesn't have a clue what Steve is looking at, he knows what he sees; his partner is definitely easy on the eyes…and there's blood. 

Blood. There's blood on Steve's neck. On his face. Not a lot, some drops here and there, but it is blood. And Steve still has that half-crazed look in his eyes. The intense one. The one that makes Danny want to drop down for cover.

Something weird is definitely going on here.

The hand slowly lifts off his mouth but Danny waits a few long beats before lightly fingering Steve's sleeve with a tentative tug. He's not sure what Steve is thinking, but there's no use poking a crazy SEAL until figuring out which way the sea is flowing. He just wishes his own body didn't hurt so much; it's a distraction. "Hey?"

Steve gives him a quick glance then shifts up and back a bit until he's squatting on his haunches and staring down at Danny. There's that concern again, it's filling Steve's eyes. That, and something else that looks an awful lot like—uh, no.

No, not possible. Steve has Catherine and Danny has Gabby and never the twain shall meet. Or something like that and good god, that board really did a number on his head if he's thinking Steve is look at him with a roll between the sheets in mind. Lust, that's what his brain is telling him he's seeing.

"Lust."

"Lust? Really, Danny? Here? Now? Didn’t think you were the _al fresco_ type."

Oh my god, what is wrong with him. He's blurting things out loud, isn't he? Jesus. Steve is grinning at him and it's so not funny. None of this is funny.

He hand waves away the words and stares up at Steve in all seriousness. "You okay? What was all that just now?"

"I should be asking you that," Steve replies. "Especially after that last comment." Then he's fiddling with something and the short board's tether drops from around Danny's ankle. "Let's get you loose," Steve says and looks at him again. "I thought I heard someone coming and Danno, seriously? You alright?"

Danny realizes he hasn't twitched so much as even a finger, is still lying flat out on his back still just gazing up at Steve because he can't quite wrap his brain around what is going on here.

His head feels heavy and his body is sore and he's confused as hell as to what it is Steve is doing out here. It's amazing to him that even knowing nothing will ever truly happen with this man, just looking at Steve can take still his breath away. He's still got it bad and it's all so absurd that he's even having these thoughts. He needs to focus on the insanity at hand and not the insanity that's locked up in a vault in the back of his head forever.

Offers up a smile. "I'm good. Think we need to concentrate on you, though—you doin' okay?"

Steve stares back at him for so long, Danny's convinced more than ever that there are issues so very not right going on here. He can sense it even without the weirdness of Steve's being dressed head to toe in camo. "Steve?"

"Danny, I think you're confused."

He's confused? "Uh, no. Hold on," Danny says because this is ridiculous. "Wait." Tries to roll over and up but goddamn everything is so sore. He just aches and hurts and aches. Steve's hands wrap around him, strong and gentle and then he's sitting upright, head reeling and…

"Whoa, Danny."

Dizzy a little, yes, but understandable and he tells Steve this at the same time he kind of falls onto him. "Good. I'm good. I'm okay. I just—"

Steve's hands are all over him. Petting him, touching him. Actually petting and patting and touching and no, oh no. Danny can't have this. Can't have Steve's hands touching him while his brain is stirring up all those locked away lusty feelings—had he really said that out loud?

He pushes at them—Steve's hands—before his mouth lets it _all_ loose. He's still feeling a little bit rocked between the wipeout and Steve's apparent lunacy, and Steve's hands are most definitely not helping him get his feet on the ground, figuratively and literally speaking,

"Stop. Steve. What are you doing?"

"What am I—I'm trying to see if you're okay. You—Danny, you've been gone and—"

"Surfing. I was gone surfing. I surf, remember? I got up, was doing great. Really great, actually, I was, then—well. I don't exactly remember, but Kono says it was a pretty awesome wipeout as wipeouts go." Rubs his head as it twinges in reminder. "Board slammed me, though, so my head and shoulders aren't so happy and I think—"

"Surfing?" 

Steve has that round-eyed look going, and goddamn those eyes, anyway; Danny could fall far into those eyes and never come up for air. Oh, yeah…and then realizes a minute or two has gone by and he's apparently trying to do just that. Fall into Steve's eyes. And not breathe.

He shifts back a bit to get some distance between them. This is all just so weird. What is wrong with him? More importantly, what is wrong with Steve?

"Why are you staring at me like I have three heads, Steven? You know I've been surfing."

"No, Danny. You weren't surfing, you—"

"Oh, okay." He's still getting a look from Steve that clearly says he doesn't understand which is annoying and Danny's beginning to feel a little put upon here because okay, he may be still classed as a beginner surfer, but he's getting better. He is. "I know I'm not the best at it and all, but I surf, Steven. Do not even be shaking your head at me. I do surf. That's not very nice, you know."

"Danny. Listen to me. You don't get it. You—"

"I don’t get it?" What the hell? "I don't? You've seen me out there. You've even been out there with me!"

Again looks at Steve through his good eye. He's really starting to become more than just a little concerned over Steve's actions. This is not normal Steve weirdness, this is off base weirdness. He's had enough now and needs some answers.

"Why are you bleeding, Steve?" Gives Steve a long once over, which normally he'd be enjoying, but now… "and for the love of all that's sane, why are you dressed like you're leading some covert mission? On a Saturday. Out here at the beach?"

"I am."

"What?" Did Steve just say?

His face is then braced between Steve's hands with the man peering intently into his one open eye. Thumbs lightly pull open his other eye and that's it.

Danny pulls away with a loud, "Ow, hey! Stop that!" 

Knocks away Steve's hands because his eye feels gritty, like it has sand in it, which could very well be given the tumbling he had to have done once he'd wiped out. He does not need Steve's big ol' finger poking him there. Between that and his head bursting like it's one Steve-crazy-antic away from splitting wide open, he can't help but feel a bit cranky and sends Steve a glare. "That hurts, you know. A lot. It's my eye."

"I'm sorry, but seriously Danny? What's the last thing you remember?"

"Today? Or ever?"

"Today."

"Surfing. I told you." It's worrisome Steve isn't 'getting' any of this. "I was surfing. Kono took me out, I got bowled over by a—okay, you know what? I am positive I told you all of this already—several times—and given how awful my head is hurting, this is not helping."

"What day did you say it was, Danny?"

Oh, God. Steve doesn't know what day it is—he's confused, looks very confused. Definitely off kilter, Danny can see that even more so now, and he's about to ask what day Steve thinks it is when there's some sort of rustling leaf noise and suddenly Danny finds himself up and moving, propelled down the path with Steve's hand gripping his shirt. He's moving, stumbling, sailing faster than he can gain ground with his—oh, Jesus, he's got bare feet.

"Fuck, Steven. Steve! Wait!" but Steve's got that mission face on and they're off and running into the dense brush and it's all Danny can do to keep breathing much less ask his crazy partner any questions about his definite lack of sanity. He's sure of it now. Steve has gone off the deep end.

How the hell does this happen? Is it PTSD? What set Steve off? Good god, what is happening here?

**

An hour or ten later, they've finally slowed to a more humane pace, relatively, but Danny's aches and pains are really making themselves known. Doesn't even want to begin to look down to find the condition of his feet. God, he's only got a bathing suit on. 

No shoes. No socks. No service—groans. What the hell is the matter with him? Never mind Steve, he's going off the rails himself.

"Steve?"

Steve's tramping through this forest like he owns it, big surprise, and Danny's about to drop from frustration. And exhaustion.

How does he let Steve drag him into things like this, though? Knowing, just knowing, what happens every time he ends up with Steve the rainforest.

Two words, Danny thinks. Dead body.

God, that was an awful experience. Who would've thought that finding a dead body wouldn't have even been the worst part of that hike way back when? Steve getting medevac-ed out. Broken arm. Dead body.

Lord, had he really mimed an 'I love you' complete with giant air-heart up to Steve? How little he'd realized then just how true that ridiculous display of sappy emotion would become so many years later. He's still got it bad for his partner, will never do anything about it and it's just all so insane. 

Insane because Steve's got Catherine and he's got Gabby or wait—Amber, right? How could he have not thought of Amber—and he should be happy. He should be, but isn't, and oh, Lord, this is the last place he needs to be thinking about any of this, for shit's sake. Maybe getting struck by that board rattled him much more than he realized.

Still. This. Insane. Being out here. Again. Following along as if traipsing around in a jungle is his favorite pastime. Again.

What is wrong with him that he keeps getting himself into these kind of situations? What sort of nightmare is awaiting on the horizon this time?

And just what in the hell is wrong with Steve?

Steve, who's leading them deeper and deeper into the dense jungle but has yet to offer an explanation. Just keeps shushing him and doing some kind of military maneuvering as they move further away from the beach and civilization—further away from his car. His phone. His shoes.

His head is back to pounding and yeah, this most certainly is all Steve's fault.

"I'm an idiot." It's hard not to grumble.

"You say something back there?"

He sends Steve a look and carefully treads his way around a few sharp rocks. "Not a word."

"That's a first," Steve mumbles on a low note that's not low enough that Danny can't hear. 

Patience is waning. Even knowing Steve is off his rocker, he's having a hard time playing along when he doesn't know what the game plan is. "Where are we going?"

"To safety. Trust me, Danny. I know what I'm doing."

"Hah." Okay, maybe a little too snappy a retort but he's tired here. "Really, Steve. What are we doing out here."

"We're following a trail to get help, D. I just told you that. Just stay with me, okay? You doing okay?"

He rolls his eyes at the broad back in front of him and grumbles something about Steve needing help but keeps following along, eyes trying to make out whatever path it is Steve seems to be following.

"Okay. I'm okay, you're nuts and I just don’t see it."

"What's that?"

"The trail. You're sure there's a trail here?"

Steve laughs and okay, so that's not the first time Danny's asked in these past two, three, four hours, but honest-to-god there's no sign that he can see of an actual path of any kind wending its way to anywhere. What are they doing out here?

"Please don't tell me we're going to find a dead body out here?"

A half turn and Steve's giving him an odd look over his shoulder before turning back again. "Not way over here."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

In the next second something pierces the bottom of his foot so hard he just lets go a short yelp. Hurts like fuck all and he sits down hard to remove the plant spike, watching as a thin trail of blood seeps down his foot. Now he really feels sick.

Steve's at his side in a few steps. "God, Danny. You need shoes." 

"I had shoes. Have shoes. Back at my car, I have shoes." This is so Steve's fault. 

Steve's rummaging around in his pack, pulls out something in a tube and is then rubbing some gooey stuff over the wound. He then pulls out a roll of—

"Duct tape?"

The grin Steve gives him is ludicrous. Why is he grinning? He's then grabbing leaves and pulling out scissors and taping things to Danny's feet, winding the duct tape over and around and what the hell?

"Shoes!"

"Oh my god, you aren't serious!"

"Try 'em out!"

They're weird. And slippery, and sweaty, but they are saving his feet from absolute toture and destruction.

"Sorry, D. I should have done this earlier but I just had this feeling we were being watched. I wanted to get out of there fast."

"Watched." By who, the people in line for the shower? God this is crazy. And it's hot. He's tired and it's hot and his head is a relentless hammer behind his eyes. "Steve. Seriously. What are we—"

There's a crack ahead, the sound of branches breaking and even though Danny knows there are no bears in Hawaii, there are boars and he's heard they can be mean as hell. Sure doesn't want to run into any while he's out here Daniel Boone-ing it around this godforsaken jungle following Commander Crazy.

Steve stops so abruptly Danny half runs into his back. "Ow," he complains because as much as he was hurting before, his body's become ten times stiffer now. Stupid wave.

"Shh."

"Oh, really, Steve? Again, with the shushing?" He's got his hands rubbing the base of his skull, trying some sort of self-massage but feeling no relief from the fiery spikes now shooting up and down his neck.

Steve's frozen in a half crouch, one hand bracing Danny and looking for all the world like he's about to jump a bush just because it's there. They wait a few long minutes but no more noise, then Steve has the nerve to again ask, "Danny, you doing alright?"

Danny tries not to lose it, but this has gone on long enough. He's on the verge, for sure. They've been out here for what seems like forever and he still doesn’t know what the issue is that has Steve acting so on jumpy and on-guard. This being dragged around the jungle is getting really old really fast.

"Am I alright? Really? No. No, I'm not. I'm not all right. I'm not okay. I'm just confused. Bewildered, although not so much bemused, you might say. What are we doing out here, Steven, really, because you know? I'm kinda passing confused and heading straight into fucking perplexed."

He reaches out to touch Steve, make him focus—please, God, let the man snap out of it—then again realizes his own hand is coming away bloody. Dried blood on his palm he's not noticed before, and says again: "You're bleeding. Why are you bleeding?" Looks at Steve. Looks at his palm. Looks back at Steve. Really looks at him. He looks crazed. Wild. Desperate.

"Danny, I'm not—I'm okay. Really. It's not even my blood, mostly. It's just a scratch but you—you're the one—"

"Me? I'm fine. I'm—okay, I'm a little dizzy and achy and sore and all, but I'm fine. Or I was before you dragged me out here on a wild Steve chase." He's about to go on with the complaining except his stomach rolls and not from hunger and so he shuts up before he spews. God, he'd just really like to lie down somewhere. His head hurts.

Rustling again. Louder this time and okay, so Danny knows he's maybe not the best judge of 'strange animals running through the brush' sounds but there is definitely something bigger than a malasada heading their way. The wild boar thought comes to mind again and he doesn't much object when Steve reaches out and pulls him further down the no-trail trail.

"Danny—we need to keep moving."

"Keep moving. Okay." Never mind he wants to scream out, why? Why, why, why? Sometimes it's just easier to agree than not when dealing with one of the certifiably insane, especially when the something making noise is getting louder. And closer. 

So he follows along best he can for a few more minutes. Thing is, though, he's hurting worse. Aching more. Is tired. Feels dizzy and more than somewhat sick and suddenly, he's just too tired to move another inch and so just stops, drained. He can take the crazy only so far. "Steve."

"Yeah, Danny." Steve notices he's not following behind him and finally stops as well. Turns. "Danny?"

It's nice to hear so much concern wrapped around his name, and he offers Steve a small grin with a shake of his head as he leans back against a tree. There's no way he's moving forward another step. Steve hurries to his side, eyes raking him up and down and looking somewhat stricken.

He's trying to keep his face impassive. Gentle. Easy. Doesn't want to set Steve off again, but damn, he needs a break and really, really needs some answers.

Takes a deep breath. "I think I need to know why now, okay? Why do I need to be out here at all? Why are _we_ out here? Why am I wearing duct tape shoes—and never mind how horrific peeling this tape is going to be, you know my hair issues; I'll need morphine for that later, keep in mind…

"Honestly, Steve. I was showering off, I look up to see you skulking in the woods—and I just gotta know: the skulking. Why? Why were you skulking? Why the camo? Why in God's name are we here?"

There's a long pause, then Steve is crouching down next to him—and geeze, Danny thinks, at what point did _he_ slide down to the ground.

Steve's leaning toward him, eyes fixed and Danny can't help but study him, thinking he looks manic, and that's when he notices more dried blood in Steve's hair. "Steve," he starts but then gets cut off by Steve's hand on his face. Cupping his cheek. What?

"Okay, Danny. What do you think happened to you?"

Seriously? He brushes Steve's hand away. "Steve, god. We've been over and over this—"

"Humor me, okay?"

"Humor you?" He wants to kill him, and says slowly so Steve truly gets it this time. "I was taken out by a wave. And a board. You know this. Tell me you know this."

"Right. The surfing wipe-out." Steve looks around again, checks his gun. Again. Then looks intently into Danny's eyes. "Danny, there are men tracking us. They're deadly, and I'm working to get us safe."

_What the fuck is he talking about?_ "Steve…" He doesn't even know where to begin with any of this.

Steve is checking his pockets, going through them and pulling things out, shoving them back in and Danny is sure he sees a grenade.

"Oh my god, what did you just pull out of your pants?"

The grin Steve sends him is just unstable—Steve—is clearly unstable.

"Why Detective Williams, are you coming on to me out here in the jungle?"

_"What!_

"Danny, relax. It's a small stun grenade just in case. We're good. I know the area. I know this trail. It's just very old and not so well traveled anymore. Trust me?"

"Trust you? Haven't I been doing that for hours now? I'm here, aren't I? Again? Following along as you drag me for unknown reasons into the depths of the untamed wild."

Which has Steve barking out a laugh, shaking his head and repeating, "Untamed wild." Then adds, "Oh, and really it's only been a little over a half hour. Sorry about your feet; I should have been more prepared for that possibility."

Oh, God, Steve is so messed up. "What are you talking about?"

"Danny, listen to me. I rescued you from a dangerous situation, but we're going to be okay, okay? Trust me. I know what I'm doing." And then Steve leans over and brushes his lips over Danny's.

He is not going to freak out. He's not. Does his best to sound cool and calm, even when all he wants to do is scream. "What was that?"

Steve's still shifting things from pocket to pockets. "What was what?"

God, the man is out of his mind. "Okay, Steve. So, uh, do you know what happened to your head? Because I'm thinking that's a no given what you just did."

"Kiss you?" Steve runs a finger over his lips, then shifts it to his head. He fingers the area and shrugs. "Wait. You mean this. It's just a cut, D. all good."

All good. All good, the man says. Okay. This is not happening. This is not all good. He is not stuck out here in the—yes, Steve—untamed wild, dammit, with this deranged person. His feet hurt. His head is killing him and he's been fighting off nausea, feels positively wretched and he's hours away from a hot shower and soft bed. And the man just kissed him.

"Rest for a bit, Danny. It's been a long half hour through this brush, I know."

Half hour? God, Steve is so out of it, and if Danny weren't feeling so piss-poor himself, he'd be on top of him. Steve. Not on top-top like Steve is a topper, but on top of what is going on with Steve. Trying to fix the zany-crazy, that is. As it is, though, he's at least pretty sure they're safe; they just need to get Steve treated for the massive concussion that's messing with his brain.

It is beautiful out here, Danny will admit, although maybe not out loud. It's also ungodly hot. Hot and humid and he's sweaty and sticky and getting eaten alive, he's sure…

And he has no idea what is happening any more.

Mosquitoes whine a halo around his head. Funny, nobody ever mentioned those bloodsuckers when they talked about how lucky he was to be moving to Hawaii. For sure they're not featured in any tourist brochure. And it's not funny, really. Not at all.

He shouldn't be in this mess, God knows why he is. God knows what's wrong with Steve, for that matter. Something, though, but his head hurts and he closes his eye and relaxes back against the tree. For now, he's just going to rest for a minute. Just one minute.

He and Steve are tangled together in the sheets of Steve's bed, a cool breeze ruffling the curtains, the barest hint of that air sweeping softly across their bared skin. Danny has awakened before Steve and lets his eyes trace over the serene features of Steve's face, beautifully relaxed in sleep. Can't resist running fingers down Steve's hip and taking hold of his dick, which had already started to fill with interest.

From there it's soft breath before Steve is awake and they fall into roving hands and mouths, finally finishing with each working the other to orgasm.

Wakes with a gasp. What?

"Danny?"

"Okay. I'm okay," he blurts out and what was that? What the hell was that? Steve's staring at him but he can't wrap his head around this. What was that?

"You sure, Danno? Because you don't look so good."

No, he's not feeling all that great, either. Stuck out in the middle of a sweaty, buggy nowhere with no answers while following a crazy person and no sign of an end to any of it any time in the near future—and his brain is apparently joining in on the crazy. He's having day-fantasies about Steve while out here in the wilds. This is not happening.

"It must be love," Danny mumbles now, swatting again at the mosquito that's taken a good chunk out of his neck. 

"What did you say?"

What _did_ he just say? Flashes panicked eyes at Steve and then backpedals, searching for an answer because what the hell, he has no idea what is happening to him. 

"I said, I must be crazy," he replies and sends Steve his best 'I'm a father and answers will be forthcoming' look, then states, "and you are going to tell me what is going on here, really, Steven. Now."

For a few long beats he's convinced Steve isn't going to say anything, then Steve sighs a bit and Danny feels a sense of relief. 

"Let me get you some water first," Steve starts and then is rummaging through whatever he's got stashed away in his pack.

"Water. You have water and I'm just now finding this out?"

"Sorry." There's a measure of chagrin on Steve's face. "I wasn't thinking all too clearly when I found you."

And there it is. He feels for Steve again, but needs to know what happened. "Steve. I think—" he wants to say he thinks Steve's half out of his brain due to some sort of head injury and not just from the normal wackiness, but ends up saying, "You kissed me, for fuck's sake!"

There's a long beat then, a rather heavy silence and then Steve says, "How is that an issue for you, now?"

What does that mean? "Well, don't you think Catherine might be just a bit upset?"

"Why would she be upset?"

Okay. There is no reasoning with a madman. He knows this now and is about to say jus that to Steve when there's more crashing through the brush noise, this time much louder for an animal much bigger than just a mongoose or two. What is that?

Steve holds up a hand and that about sends Danny tearing down the non-path the other way.

They both still, but the noise seems to fade off, thank god. Because really? How the hell does being out here with McGarrett lead to them possibly being in trouble—again? Even given Steve's current delusion that there are 'bad guys' after them, this running around in the middle of the forest is just so much an ingredient in a recipe for disaster. This has happened to them too many times to count.

"What the hell is it with you?" He's grumbling at Steve, knows this. Doesn’t care. He's been hot and sticky and buggy all day, and swear to god, if they actually do stumble upon a dead body out here he is going to just lose it entirely. 

"Me? Nothing's with me, Danny. I told you I'm worried about you."

Danny frowns. He's had enough. "Me? I'm fine. But you—it's like…it's like you have some gravitational magnetic pull on anything even remotely dangerous." Wipes a hand over the sweat running down his neck. "Un-fucking-believable."

"What are you talking about? Nothing has happened and I told you that I'm going to make sure it stays that way!"

"Oh, yeah. Right. The bad guys gunning for us." Steve looks more than annoyed that Danny added air quotes around the 'bad guys'.

Steve slices a hand through the air at him.

"What was that? You did not just hand wave me to shut up."

"No, Danny. Just—come on— You're not acting normal."

"Normal?"

"Yes. Well, normal for you."

"I don't believe this," Danny's whispering muttering to himself under his breath and he's again following along best he can given the terrain and the fact that every now and again, Steve will just stop in front of him. Like now.

"Now what are you doing?"

"Danny, stop."

"I am stopped!"

"Shh…"

Which, really? Again? "Are you kidding me?"

Steve's got his head cocked, clearly listening to something. "I think I heard something."

"Something? Something like…a mongoose something? Or like a wild boar something? Or maybe we're stumbling on a unicorn?"

"Danny, please—shush."

Which makes him want to scream. It's amazing to him how being with Steve can suddenly have him wanting to kick something in childish frustration. He strains to listen but hears nothing other than whatever is the norm in rainforest noises. Looks to Steve who's standing there with that expression on his face, that crease evident between his eyes, a sure sign that Steve the SEAL is in house.

"What are we listening for?"

"Trouble."

Danny knows what Steve thinks he's talking about, just doesn't want to truly think of how much Steve has gone completely off the deep end.

"Trouble. _You_ give me trouble—god, you're so suspicious." He waits a minute to see if Steve is going to relax, but if anything he's even more tense. There are lines running down Steve's face, he looks overly wired. Running on adrenaline. And that blood…

"Steve. I really, really need to know what's going on with you."

Steve's digging hands through his pack, barely giving Danny a glance even though he's nodding like he's listening. Half-listening.

"Don’t have time for this now, Danny."

"Don’t have time?" He wants to scream. "Steve. You're not—you're acting weird as hell, even for you!" Watches Steve rummage through his pack—again—and pull out a phone. His phone. His goddamn phone.

Danny is outraged. Points. "You have a phone?" His head is going to explode. It is. 

"Yeah." Steve tosses the phone back in his pack. "No service. Haven't had any since I got here."

There's a lead in. "Here. Where's here, Steve? Where is it you think we are?" Some war zone in some other country, Danny's starting to think.

"Where do _you_ think we are?"

Typical Steve. Danny's going to scream. "No, stop. Don’t do that. Do not answer a question with a question. I asked you first."

Steve's sending over worried face as if he thinks Danny's the one with the issue and now Danny really is this close to throwing a tantrum. A kicking, screaming throw-himself-on-the-ground temper tantrum. 

"You have blood on you, Steven. Blood. You're not acting quite…you, shall we say. I mean, you're not the you I'd be expecting to find at the end of the day, but you are the you who wears camouflage and tramps around lurking behind bushes."

"English please?"

"You're bleeding!"

"I was bleeding. From a small cut, but, listen, most of this blood isn't mine."

"That's also what I'm afraid of, and I don't think I want to know where it came from. Did you hit your head?"

"It's nothing."

It's so not nothing. He knows this even if Steve doesn't realize. "You're…ill, Steve. You're having issues."

"No, Danno. You are. It's all you."

Oh my god, he's going to kill him. Kill him, he is—then he'll get him to the doctor and he's just about to say that to Steve—that they need to give up this ridiculous hiking around on a non- trail going nowhere—and get Steve to the doctor. Psychiatrist first. Pronto.

"Okay," he starts—

"Shut up a minute."

Which he does because the look on Steve's face is…deadly.

"Danny, get down!"

The high-pitched whine of a bullet passes close enough to send him an answer to the current crazy. He glares at Steve who sends his own look of incredulousness back. 

"Someone just shot at us, Steven."

Steve's shifting his gun to this other hand and pulling another out from an ankle holster, all the while scowling toward whoever is shooting at them. "I suppose you're going to say this is my fault?''

"Of course it's your fault!" How is someone shooting at them?

"You are unbelievable," Steve tells him all the while lurching to his feet and running duck and cover moves through the thick foliage.

Danny's following along, terrain moving fast and furious under his duct tape bound feet as he traces Steve's steps. 

Another bullet whizzes by, although not as close as the first, not that it matters. Near misses by bullets are a big deal. Because they're bullets. Not horseshoes.

"The point is that here I am, once again, out here with you and people are shooting at us. It's certainly not _my fault!_ This sort of thing never happens in New Jersey, I can tell you that!"

"It doesn't happen here, either, Danny. I told you this is because you—"

"What, this is my fault?" He's hissing under his breath and trying not to tip off the crazies shooting at them, but it's hard to keep quiet given the amount of anger that's now pulsing through his veins. "Oh no. You are so not going to point the finger my way on this. I haven't ever had the kind of trouble I have had since I started hanging with you."

They're running, crashing, charging through this mess of a non-trail and Danny's trying hard not to vomit or pass out because the world is graying a bit and his headache is ratcheted up a few hundred notches and then—

"Shit, Steve!" because Steve's down and Danny sees the streak of blood that suddenly wells up from an opening in his stupid camo pants. He starts to get to the wound but then Steve's up again and they're off.

Typical, Danny thinks as he’s muttering. “Just so typical.”

“What? You say something, Danno?”

Steve’s half looking at him, head swiveling back and forth like he can really afford to take his eyes off their shooter. Shooters. God, Danny hopes there aren't shooters.

This just cannot be happening. No. No, no, no.

A bullet pings near his head and Danny’s sure it’s somehow sheared off a half an inch or so of his hair. He throws a hand over it, not like he has much to spare these days.

“Keep your head down,” Steve yells back at him, which makes Danny punch him in the arm. Hard.

“Keep your own head down,” he shoots back. “Even you can’t afford another hole in your head.”

"Unn, fuck," he yells a microsecond after burning fire pierces his shoulder and what the fucking fuck was that? Something like the drilling of a thousand hornets is driving pain into the back of his right shoulder and he stumbles to his knees when his sight flashes to bright white.

No time to even breathe as Steve's hands are hauling him to his feet and there's gunfire again. The bark of a tree blasts out near their heads and then Steve's pulling on him hard and fast and they're running again. Steve's limping and Danny is about to vomit all over everything.

Colors blur wildly past his eyes that are streaming tears too quickly for him to blink past, and he can't seem to catch a breath. Pain is all he feels, hot and stabbing pain. He's in agony. 

Steve slows them down. Steve, who's limping and looking pale as well. 

"C'mon, Danny, keep moving," he's murmuring. Prodding.

"Gonna be sick, Steve."

This isn't real. It's a beautiful day. This shouldn't be happening. How is this happening?

Did Steve actually kiss him?

They come to enough of a ridge where the treeline breaks and it's a fifteen foot drop to the next level of forest. No way in hell can he climb down. No way.

"Steve, I can't," he tells him and knows already it doesn't matter because the SEAL is out and McGarrett's wrapping himself around Danny and for a long second, they're just staring at one another, as close as they've even been.

"I love you," Steve says…

or Danny thinks he says and before he can even begin to truly register those words, he's blurting out his own, "I love you, too," as if that's the most natural thing in the world for him to reply to Steve while they're falling to their deaths.

Then they're over the side, rolling down as one, tumbling over and over and everything that hurt before is blazing with fire now, and his last thought before they both hit the ground and shatter into a million pieces is how much he is truly in love with an insane person.

He thought he had that fact hidden away so well, too.

**

Danny wakes slowly, sights, smells and sounds immediately telling him he's in the hospital. When did that happen?

Steve's sprawled in a chair near his bed, nose buried into a magazine. It's all he can do to flop his hand around and say, "Hey." 

That wins a big grin from Steve. "Hey, D. You're awake, finally."

"Finally?"

Steve laughs. "Yeah, you've been sort of awake a few times. You don't remember?"

The look on Steve's face makes him nervous. He's not at all sure what he might have said while only partially awake but the possibilities are horrifyingly huge. "Uh, no?"

"You asking me or telling me, there, Danno?"

He looks so earnest, it almost makes Danny laugh. And then he does.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Danny tells him. "Everything. I don't know. I don't know anything." He's feeling loopy still. Like he's been asleep for a lot longer than he thinks and realizes then that one shoulder is wrapped in bandages.

"How you feeling?" Steve's still staring at him, which is a little unnerving.

It's hard to tell. He feels okay, but his head hurts. His shoulders hurt. So maybe not so okay. He takes a deep breath and lets it go. That broken rib still hurts some. "Not sure. Okay, I guess. I'm not sure."

Steve's leaning on the bed now, and it slowly dawns that Steve's holding onto one his hands. They're holding hands…and while he doesn't know why that's happening, it somehow feels weirdly normal.

"So Danny, what do you remember?"

What does he remember? "Surfing," he decides and points to himself, then Steve. "I was surfing. And you were there." That's not quite right. "I mean, you were there…but what you were doing there, I'm still not sure." Something about camo and bullets. "There was shooting."

"Yeah."

"And you threw me off the side of a cliff. I remember that."

The grin on Steve's face widens. "Ah, not exactly. We did slide down a pretty steep embankment." And then Steve's smiling softly and reaching out to touch him again. And Danny lets him because, well...he kind of likes it. that Steve is touching him.

"You remember anything more?"

"No. I don't know. That's about it." Steve's now brushing his hair back. This makes no sense and is incredibly distracting. In a good way.

"Well," Steve says. "You have a pretty severe concussion."

Danny points back at himself. "I do? I have an concussion?" Points at Steve. "I thought you had a concussion."

"No, I had a cut, Danny. I told you that." Steve's laughing again, softer this time. "Now I have a cut and a bullet graze, but you…You were never surfing, Danny. Two days ago, you disappeared from your apartment."

"Disappeared?"

"When you saw me and thought you were showering after surfing, you were actually chained to a pole behind an old abandoned warehouse. With dried blood down the side of your face."

This isn't real. It sounds like Steve is making this up. "You lie."

Steve holds up a hand. "All true."

"So when you were out there on a mission, all dressed in camo—"

"I was coming for you."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"So everything you said—"

"Yeah. Everything."

"So you and I, really?"

Steve's lips press lightly against his. "Have been for several months now, Danny. I told you that."

"Wow."

"You said that already. The docs figure you've lost about four months of time. It may or may not come back, they say." 

"Four months?" This is crazy.

"Danny, I just, after you were shot in the shoulder—wait, do you remember that?"

"You got hit in the leg and yeah, I remember a lot of pain. Shot, huh?"

Steve nods. "You're going to be fine. We rolled down the embankment, then got up and moving and kind of just stumbled on Chin and Kono and pretty much half of HPD out there looking for us."

"Chin and Kono? I don't remember any of that."

"Well, you gave 'em a big smile and hello. Told them you thought I'd lost my mind…and then you fainted."

Danny coughs. That just would not happen. No. "I did not faint. Collapsed in a heap from exhaustion, maybe. Probably. In a very manly way, I might add."

Steve squeezes his hand. "I'm sure you think so. But I was there. You fainted like in a princess movie. A slow twirl and then down."

"You lie."

"No," Steve says with a smirk. "No, you did. The little twirly thing and then a sigh and dropped. And I caught you. It was all very graceful. Really. Kind of pretty, you know."

"You so lie. Besides, how would you know. you were shot and losing blood. You don't remember anything."

"Oh, trust me, Danno. I remember everything. You sighing. You twirling. You fainting. Me catching. Just like that." Steve leers his way. "I'm your hero."

Danno frowns even though part of him is laughing. "You lie and suck and I hate you. So much. I do. I really do." He may not fully remember, but just having Steve by his side is making this all so much easier to deal with, even if it is unbelievable. 

Steve squeezes his hand. "You love me."

He's not playing this game. No way would he do a twirly faint. "You wish."

"No, D. I know."

"You know nothing."

"I know you love me. I know I love you."

And there's that Steve smile. The one that lights up his whole face and Danny can't get enough of it. "You better."

"I do. Princess Danno of the Forest."

"Again, I hate you. So much."

"Face it. You love me, D."

"My god. You know what? I think I do."

End.


End file.
